


Where the Love-Light Gleams

by blueberryphancakes



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: 2015 - Freeform, Almost Reality, Brief mentions of anxiety and depression, Can be read as friends to lovers or just friends, Christmas, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Gen, Happy Ending, M/M, No actual depression, Reality except the UK is slightly more American than it really is, Sharing a Bed, minimal angst, worried Dan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 06:57:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9060949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueberryphancakes/pseuds/blueberryphancakes
Summary: Phil is having trouble getting into the holiday spirit. Dan is a confused, anxious mess. Somehow, Christmas turns out okay anyway.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Slightly based on these tweets from last year: https://twitter.com/danisnotonfire/status/671676573385424896 https://twitter.com/amazingphil/status/671668575082541057
> 
> I /meant/ to have this out by Christmas Eve. Oops. Hopefully a few of you still want to read a Christmas fic before you go to sleep on Christmas night.
> 
> Let's all pretend tinsel has the American meaning (that stringy metallic stuff) and that the stuff you hang over a doorway is called a garland. Let's also pretend that the light show mentioned totally exists and isn't a complete ripoff of Fantasy in Lights at Callaway Gardens in Pine Mountain, Georgia.
> 
> I was very, very close to calling this story "Make the Yuletide Gay." Not sure if proud of self or disappointed in self for not doing it.

_Twenty-four Days Until Christmas, Dan and Phil’s Flat, London, England_

It’s six in the morning on the first of December, and Phil is aggressively trying to fill the flat with Christmas cheer.

“Just hear those sleigh bells jingling, ring-ting-tingling too…” he sings along with the music blasting from his phone, his voice loud and off-key as he strews tinsel on the already-decorated tree, all of the houseplants, various knick-knacks, and, to Dan’s horror, _both_ of their laptops.

“Phil,” Dan sighs, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and trying not to let his irritation show too much, “I know you love Christmas and all, but this is getting ridiculous.”

Phil doesn’t reply, but his singing does get marginally louder.

You see, every year since well before Dan knew him, Phil has gone to bed on the last day of November a relatively normal (if somewhat quirky) guy and has woken up the embodiment of yuletide. Whereas he usually stumbles out of his room around eleven or twelve clad in wrinkled pyjamas and crooked glasses and communicating his need for coffee primarily using a series of grunts, he starts December bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, and donning a hideously festive jumper. It’s a tradition Dan found endearing for about ten minutes the first year that they lived together and has since begrudgingly learned to tolerate, but Phil has gone too far this year.

“I hope you realise that the only reason I’m awake right now is because your singing could wake the dead, and the only reason I haven’t killed you yet is that I’m fairly certain you could sing yourself back to life.”

“Come on Dan,” Phil says, bounding across the room to throw some tinsel on top of Dan’s head. “Where’s your Christmas spirit?”

“It died along with my chances of getting a good night’s sleep during the month of December.” He picks the tinsel out of his unruly bed-hair and drapes it over Phil’s shoulder. Phil doesn’t seem to notice. “Why are you up so early anyway? You usually manage to hold off until at least nine.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Phil says, grabbing a can of fake snow and spraying a liberal amount on each and every window. He’s eyeing the television when Dan plucks the can out of his hands.

“Tell me you haven’t been decorating the lounge all night.”

“No.” Phil grabs a stack of red and green construction paper, a stapler, and a pair of scissors before plopping onto the sofa. “I decorated the office first.” He sets about cutting the paper into strips and stapling them together in a chain, the kind of tacky garland that children make in school so their teachers won’t have to buy real decorations. Dan doesn’t know where Phil plans to put it; he’s willing to bet there’s already a store-bought garland over every doorway in the flat.

“And you could only hold off on the singing until six a.m.?”

“Figured most of our neighbours would be up and getting ready for work by then.” And then, as if he had forgotten about the Christmas playlist still blaring from his phone until this very moment, he begins humming along to Carol of the Bells.

“So you care about the neighbours’ sleeping habits but not your flatmate’s,” Dan grumbles, flopping into his sofa crease and sending up a cloud of glitter in the process. He gives Phil a sidelong look, noting the dark circles under his eyes. “Though it looks like maybe you should worry about your own sleeping habits.” He makes the executive decision to turn off the music.

“Do you think we should get a tree this year?” Phil asks, seemingly oblivious.

“We already have a tree.”

“No, like a real tree. You know, the kind where you go to a field and try to find the most symmetrical one, saw it down and strap it to the roof of your car to take it home.”

“We don’t have a car.”

“I bet my brother would let me borrow his.”

“We are _not_ travelling all the way to your brother’s house to borrow his car just so you can have a real Christmas tree. Why do you want one anyway?”

“They smell nice.”

“Phil, you already have like three pine-scented candles burning in this place. Surely that’s enough.”

“Four. And it’s not the same.”

“Phil.”

Phil starts humming Deck the Halls.

“ _Phil._ ” Dan grabs his shoulder, angling Phil to face him. “Seriously. What’s this all about?”

Phil stops humming. His eyes meet Dan’s, wide and bloodshot. “Three words,” he says. “Giant. Inflatable. Santa. What do you think?”

Dan gapes at him. “I think you should get some sleep.”

“Just let me finish this paper chain first.”

“Nope.” Dan snatches Phil’s scissors.

Phil responds with an indignant squawk.

“Go to bed,” Dan orders, holding the scissors just out of reach.

“Please give them back,” Phil begs. He stares up at Dan with big, wet eyes. He looks so pitiful that Dan almost relents.

Almost.

“Phil,” he says, voice dropping to his lowest, gentlest tone, “please tell me what’s got you so Christmas crazy. I’m starting to worry.”

Phil chews on his lip, considering. Finally, he sighs. “I’m not.”

“You’re not what?”

“Christmas crazy. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

Dan scoots closer, letting his knee bump against Phil’s in silent reassurance. “What do you mean?”

“It’s just…okay. So you know how I’m always super excited for Christmas?”

“I’ve noticed that about you, yeah.” Dan gives him an easy smile. Phil returns it, but only for a second.

“But this year…I don’t know. I went to bed last night, and I was all ready to go to sleep when I realised that I wasn’t excited. I thought about December starting, candy canes and cocoa, I even thought about Christmas morning, but I just…didn’t care.” He pulls his hands inside the sleeves of his ugly Christmas jumper (which, Dan now notices, is actually _his_ ugly Christmas jumper) and draws his arms in close to his chest, absently rubbing his knuckles together. “I thought maybe if I went all out with the decorating and sang lots of Christmas songs, that would get me in the Christmas spirit, but I’m still not really feeling it.” And then, in a voice so small Dan can barely hear him: “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

And just like that, the last dregs of Dan’s annoyance at being woken up early wash away, replaced with concern and something that feels like a weight on his chest. He gnaws on his thumbnail, trying to come up with a logical, non-worrisome reason for Phil’s lack of Christmas spirit—not just to reassure Phil, but to reassure himself. “Maybe it’s just not cold enough to feel like Christmas yet,” he suggests. It has been unusually warm for this time of year; they haven’t even had to turn the heat on yet, and he doesn’t know how Phil hasn’t overheated in that fleece-lined jumper.

Phil shrugs. “Maybe.” He doesn’t sound convinced.

Dan is willing to try anything to cheer Phil up though, so he hops up from the sofa and jogs to the nearest window with surprising speed given that it’s still only six-fifteen and that he is himself. He goes around the room opening each window as wide as it will go, letting in the cool outside air, and then he turns the ceiling fan on high. It’s times like this that he wishes they had a central air conditioning unit like the one in Phil’s family’s summer home in Florida, but he makes do with what he has.

“Better?” he asks, as though the slight change in temperature might have magically restored Phil’s enthusiasm already.

Phil shrugs again.

“Why don’t we watch a film?” Dan says, going to the bookshelf to look through their DVD collection. He grabs the first Christmas movie he sees, turns and presents it to Phil with a smile that is probably far too wide. “Now this…I haven’t seen this in forever. What do you think, start the morning with a little _Home Alone_ and hot chocolate?”

And because they’ve known each other for so long, Dan knows Phil can practically read his mind, will see that setup and ask if that’s anything like Netflix and Phil, and they’ll both laugh even though it’s a joke they’ve already made a hundred variations of, and everything will be okay.

So it’s a surprise when Phil replies, “Yeah, sounds good,” and offers Dan an unconvincing smile.

Ten minutes later, they are curled up under a scratchy, snowman-patterned blanket that Dan dug out of Phil’s closet, sipping their cocoa and watching a little boy’s family leave him behind. Dan tries to channel the festive spirit in the hopes of transferring some of it to his friend, which mostly results in him falling back on jokes at the movie characters’ expenses and offering Phil mini marshmallows every few minutes.

Phil laughs at Dan’s jokes, and he accepts the marshmallows some of the time, but Dan can tell his heart isn’t in it. He can tell in the way Phil’s tongue doesn’t poke between his teeth, in the way the bag of marshmallows is still mostly full, in the way they’re sitting together under the same blanket but not touching at all, limbs kept carefully on their respective sides of the sofa.

And it’s silly. It’s probably nothing. Phil is twenty-eight years old, and it’s perfectly normal for him to lose some of his childlike Christmas spirit after a while.

It’s nothing to worry about, yet the weight on Dan’s chest grows heavier and heavier.

He makes a decision, when Macaulay Culkin does his famous scream and it barely gets a chuckle out of Phil, that he is going to fix this. From that moment forward, he makes it his mission to figure out what’s got Phil down and do whatever it takes to restore his Christmas spirit. No, not just restore.

He’s going to make this the best Christmas Phil has ever had.

 

* * *

 

_Eighteen Days Until Christmas, Dan and Phil’s Flat, London, England_

There are times when Dan thinks that there’s something to the whole _peace on Earth, goodwill to all_ thing. Times when he gets caught up, not so much in the songs, smells, and decorations, but in the overall feeling of warmth that has nothing to do with the temperature, in the rush of finding the perfect gift for someone, in the joy the holiday brings to the people he cares about. And every year, even if it’s just for a moment, he finds himself forgetting about his problems and simply being grateful for his friends, for his family, for the things he has accomplished and the way his life has changed for the better over the last several years.

This year, he’s just grateful for Amazon Prime.

“Phil?” he calls, coming out of his room with two meticulously wrapped presents. He wanders into the lounge but finds it empty. Behind him, something creaks.

“Yeah?”

Dan turns to find Phil standing in his bedroom doorway, his duvet draped over his shoulders. “Happy Christmas,” Dan says in the cheeriest voice he can muster, going up to Phil and holding the presents out to him.

“You got me two?” Phil sounds dubious as he takes the packages and examines them. “Isn’t it a bit early for this?”

“It’s nearly noon, Rip Van Winkle.” Dan reaches out to ruffle Phil’s hair. “And one of the presents is practical while the other is just for fun.”

Phil pats his hair back into place. It doesn’t help much, and one piece of hair is left sticking straight up, but Phil is grumbling incoherently in the way he often does before he gets his morning coffee, so Dan decides not to mention it. “I meant, isn’t it a bit early in the year to exchange gifts? We usually wait until just before we leave on holiday.” He raises his eyebrows suddenly, grouchiness fading. “Wait, you aren’t leaving early, are you?”

“No, no,” Dan assures. “I just thought…well, I hoped it might cheer you up, is all.”

Phil frowns. “Dan, really. I’m fine.” It’s something he has repeated time and time again over the course of the last week, yet every time Dan puts on a Christmas movie, Phil gets this faraway look in his eye, one that Dan can’t quite place, though he’s certain he wouldn’t label it “happy.” The rest of the time, Phil acts fairly normal—that is to say, he act like he does the other eleven months of the year, ignoring all the lights and decorations they pass on the streets, drinking coffee that tastes like coffee rather than peppermints and sugar, listening to the same music he listens to year-round—and that’s what worries Dan the most. It seems Phil has utterly given up on trying to get himself into the Christmas spirit.

Dan, however, refuses to give up on him.

“Just open them,” Dan says.

“I haven’t gotten your present yet though.” Phil hesitates. “What if I just open one and save the other for later?”

“Fair enough.” Dan takes the smaller of the two boxes back. “Open that one,” he says, nodding to the package that’s still in Phil’s hands. “I think it might be useful.”

Phil unwraps the present carefully, peeling the tape off one strip at a time. It’s a habit he must have picked up from Dan, Dan thinks. Normally, Phil just rips the paper off.

“Oh!” Phil says when the paper is off. The word comes out in the fake-excited tone Dan is all too familiar with, the one he hears whenever Phil receives a present he doesn’t like or understand but doesn’t want to hurt the present-giver’s feelings. “What a nice…lamp?”

“It’s a light box,” Dan rushes to explain. He studies his fingers as he talks so he won’t have to see the disappointment on Phil’s face. “It’s supposed to simulate sunlight. I was doing some research, and some people say it helps them with their seasonal depression.”

“Dan.”

Dan peeks up through his fringe. To his surprise, Phil doesn’t look angry or disappointed; instead, his eyes twinkle with amusement.

“I mean, this is very thoughtful, but…I’m not depressed.”

“Well no, not like _depressed_ depressed, but Web MD says—”

“You’ve been going on Web MD again? You know how it upsets you.”

“I was already upset!” Dan throws his hands in the air and begins pacing the hallway. “I’m the _king_ of being upset. What’s the point of trying not to make myself upset when I’m already the king?” He knows he’s being dramatic, but it isn’t _his_ fault he’s prone to worrying about the people he cares about. And the person he cares about the most has given him a very good reason to worry.

He hardly notices he’s still ranting under his breath until he feels a smooth pair of hands slide over his forearms from behind, causing his pacing to stop, his mind to quiet, his words to die in his throat.

“Dan,” Phil says in a gentle voice, as though Dan is a wild animal who might run away at any moment.

(Maybe he is).

“Will you look at me?” Phil asks.

Dan takes a deep breath before turning around. When he sees Phil’s furrowed brow and tight-lipped expression, he instantly feels guilty. He didn’t mean to transfer his worries onto his friend.

“Listen,” Phil says, placing his hands on Dan’s shoulders, “I’m fine. Really. I know I was kinda upset the other day when I didn’t feel as festive as usual, but I’ve accepted it now. I’m nearly thirty, after all. I can’t expect to have that childlike excitement forever, can I? And that’s okay. It’s okay not to feel especially excited about Christmas. You never are.”

“Yeah, but that’s me,” Dan argues. “You’re Phil.”

“Even Phils have to grow up sometime.” He gives Dan’s shoulders a light squeeze before letting his hands drop to his sides. Dan finds that he misses the warmth they provided. “I promise I’m alright, but—if it makes you feel better—I’ll give the square lamp a try. But only if you promise to stop worrying about this.”

“Light box,” Dan corrects. “And I promise. Thank you.”

 

* * *

 

_ Six Days Until Christmas, Dan and Phil’s Flat, London, England _

Dan doesn’t keep his promise.

To be fair, neither does Phil. He turns the light box on exactly once, just long enough to decide that it’s too bright, before switching it off and throwing it in his closet, never to be seen again. Dan points out that it’s supposed to be bright— _that’s the point, Phil_ —and that having it on for two seconds doesn’t count as ‘trying it’ no matter how much Phil insists that it does. By that logic, Dan privately decides, all he has to do is stop worrying for two seconds and technically he won’t have broken his promise to Phil. He’s gone that long without actively worrying, he’s certain. Almost certain. Probably.

But the fact of the matter is that Dan is definitely worried when, with only a few days left before they each go home for Christmas, Phil still seems to lack his usual enthusiasm. Which is why he decides to do something that might be just a little drastic.

“Dan, will you please just tell me where we’re going?” Phil asks for the fourth time that morning.

Dan ignores him, focusing his attention on trying to pack his and Phil’s suitcases simultaneously. “Have you seen my black jacket?” he asks.

“Which one?”

Dan sighs dramatically before continuing his search for the jacket. (He eventually finds it stuffed into a kitchen cupboard along with a mountain of mismatched Tupperware. God knows how it ended up there).

When he has finally checked off everything on his mental packing list, Dan stands back, squinting at the suitcases and trying to come up with anything he might have forgotten.

His eyes widen suddenly. “Phil?” he says. “Do you know where our passports are?”

Phil just stares at him.

 

* * *

 

_Six Days Until Christmas, Luton Airport, London, England_

_“Flight 153 to Inverness is about to start boarding. All passengers of flight 153 to Inverness, please come to the gate.”_

“Dan. Tell me that isn’t us.”

 

* * *

 

_ Six Days Until Christmas, Hotel Room, Inverness, Scotland _

The hotel room only has one bed, and if that isn’t a sign that Dan has somehow accidently cast himself in the world’s most cliché holiday romcom, he doesn’t know what is.

Neither he nor Phil comments on it as they throw their bags down and head back out into the cold.

They’ll deal with it later.

 

* * *

 

_ Six Days Until Christmas, the River Ness, Inverness, Scotland _

The truth is that Dan has a very specific reason for choosing Inverness, of all places, to take Phil on winter holiday. He wants to save that reason for last though, so he lets Phil think that they’re here for the cold weather, the historic landmarks, and a chance to see Nessie.

“Not to burst your bubble,” Phil says, rubbing his hands together before stuffing them into his pockets (Dan _told_ him to get his gloves out of his suitcase), “but isn’t the Loch Ness Monster supposed to be in, you know, _Loch Ness?_ As in a lake. This is a river.”

“A river that flows from Loch Ness,” Dan points out. “Look!” He leans over the railing on the bridge they’re currently loitering on, pointing towards a dark smudge in the water. “That could be her!”

Phil squints in the direction Dan is pointing. “If by ‘her’ you mean a log.”

Dan turns to Phil, back to the water, back to Phil again. He snatches Phil’s glasses off his face, ignoring Phil’s cry of protest, and places them in front of his own eyes.

Yep, it’s a log.

(And, apparently, Dan needs to get his vision checked).

“Hm,” Dan says and hands the glasses back to Phil.

They spend the rest of the day walking along the river’s edge, touring castles, and ducking into quaint little shops when their faces start to go numb from the cold. One short, round shopkeeper with a gap-toothed grin calls them a handsome couple and offers them pastries on the house. Dan goes bright red and stammers as he tries to correct her, but either she doesn’t understand or she simply doesn’t believe him. They leave the shop with what turn out to be the best pastries either of them has ever had, and, when Dan starts to recover from his embarrassment, he casts a glance at Phil. His friend doesn’t appear to be flustered in the least, though Dan notices that the faraway look in his eyes has returned.

They make it back to the hotel just before eleven, after dinner at a restaurant not much bigger than a hole in the wall but offering food so good it nearly brought tears to Dan’s eyes. It’s been a good day, Phil agrees, even if he was expecting to spend it watching anime in London, and he thanks Dan again for the surprise trip.

Everything is fine until they get to their room, and oh. Right.

Dan opens his mouth to crack some joke about it being like a fanfic—anything to ease the tension that has suddenly fallen over them—but before he can speak, Phil says, “I’ll take the sofa,” and proceeds to remove the cushions, revealing the foldout bed beneath.

“Are you sure?” Dan asks as Phil prepares for bed (Dan averts his eyes while Phil changes—out of politeness, of course) and then flops onto the springy mattress. “Those things aren’t usually very comfortable.”

“This one’s not bad.” Phil shrugs, eyes closed, head already nestled into his pillow.

“Why don’t you take the bed and I’ll take the pullout sofa?” Dan asks. There’s a third option, of course, but Dan is too afraid to mention it.

“You know that story about the princess and the pea?” Phil responds without opening his eyes. “That’s you.”

Dan lets out a high-pitched noise, something between a scoff and a screech.

“Dan,” Phil sighs. “I’m tired. I don’t want to get up and move, and I don’t want to argue about this. We can always renegotiate the sleeping arrangements tomorrow night.”

Dan hesitates, another argument on the tip of his tongue. Ultimately, he decides it’s best just to let Phil get some sleep. “Well…alright, I guess.” He sheds his clothes and brushes his teeth as quietly as possible before climbing into the king-sized bed. It’s comfortable, enough so that Dan practically feels like a cloud is carrying him off to the land of peaceful slumber, but all he can focus on is how it’s far too large for one person.

“Goodnight,” he whispers, but he doesn’t get a response.

Phil is already asleep.

 

* * *

 

_ Five Days Until Christmas, the Botanic Gardens, Inverness, Scotland _

It’s a surprisingly warm day in the Scottish Highlands, and Dan wonders if it was even worth it to come all this way, if he could have found something similar closer to home and not had to worry with airports and passports and accents he doesn’t always understand. But Phil seems to have had a good day exploring the gardens, naming the plants and making friends with the birds, so Dan still has hope that the main event will be as good as he remembers it being, that it will finally snap Phil back into the Christmas spirit.

The temperature drops as night falls, and Dan buys them each a cup of hot chocolate and leads Phil to the line for boarding the trolley.

“Dan, what…?” Phil looks around at the children and adults bundled in mittens in coats, all waiting for the trolley to arrive. “What are we doing?”

“This is going to be sort of cheesy,” Dan says, “but my parents took me here once when I was a kid, and I swear it was the best Christmas I’ve ever had.”

Just then, the trolley arrives, and a girl with snowman earmuffs thanks them for coming to the lightshow and ushers them onto the ride. Dan and Phil find themselves crammed onto a bench with two other people. There isn’t much room to move, but then the trolley starts moving, blowing wind in their faces, and Dan is suddenly glad for the shared body heat.

Phil gasps when they come upon the entrance, a row of multicoloured Christmas trees made entirely of lights and a twinkling sign that says _Fantasy in Lights._ Phil turns to Dan, grinning wide, and even in the dark, Dan can see the happiness in his eyes.

“Just wait,” Dan whispers over the Christmas music that begins filtering into the trolley. “It gets better.”

And it does. Phil seems to think every new area the trolley enters is better than the last, and he bounces in his seat and points his favourite displays out to Dan.

“Look at the frog in the Santa hat!” Phil says at one point, grabbing Dan’s arm in excitement. “Did you see him jump into the pond?”

“Yeah,” Dan laughs, though he didn’t. He was too busy looking at Phil.

By the end of the ride, their sides are pressed completely against each other and their fingers are interlocked. For warmth, Dan tells himself, though they both remembered to bring gloves. Phil has expressed more of his old childlike joy than Dan has seen all month—maybe more than he has in years—and Dan has gotten to witness it all. The lightshow was nice, he supposes, but it was nothing compared to Phil’s reaction to it. At this point, he honestly isn’t sure if the smile plastered on his face is frozen there due to the cold or his own elation at finally having succeeded at getting Phil into the Christmas spirit.

The smile does fade eventually, when they get back to their hotel room and Phil immediately falls onto the pullout sofa. He’s snoring before Dan can even protest.

As Dan gets ready for bed, he reflects on the day, trying to remember how happy he felt a few short minutes ago. How he felt, for the first time ever, that he truly understood why Phil loves Christmas so much.

He lies awake all night in a warm hotel room and still somehow feels cold, and he tries not to be disappointed.

 

* * *

 

 _Four Days Until Christmas, Inverness Airport, Inverness, Scotland_  
  
The airport seems quieter than it was when they arrived, though there are plenty of people in it. It might be even more crowded than it was the other day, as a lot of people are traveling for the holidays now. Perhaps the silence between Dan and Phil isn’t that tense. Perhaps it’s all in Dan’s head. But to Dan, the silence is deafening.

_“Flight 6877 to Manchester will begin boarding in twenty minutes. All passengers of flight 6877 to Manchester, please come to the gate and have your boarding pass ready.”_

“You should probably go to your own gate now,” Phil says.

Dan nods. His flight departs ten minutes after Phil’s, and his gate is on the other side of the airport. He’d stay with Phil until the moment he had to get on the plane otherwise, uncomfortable silence or not. He starts to get up.

“Wait,” Phil says before Dan is fully out of his seat. “I almost forgot.” He starts digging through his carry-on bag, shifting aside a web of tangled headphones and snack wrappers before he finds a small box wrapped endearingly slapdashedly in the same cat-print paper that Phil used to wrap Dan’s last birthday present. “Happy Christmas,” he says, grinning like a child showing off their latest drawing. “Remembered to grab it right as we were leaving the flat. Tell me next time we’re about to leave the country, yeah?”

A slow smile spreads across Dan’s face. “I brought yours too.” He pulls the neatly-wrapped box from his own carry-on without even looking.

“Da-an,” Phil whines. “You already got me two presents. Stop showing me up.”

“All I got you before this was the light box, and you don’t even use it.”

“The light box and this trip,” Phil corrects.

“The trip was for both of us.”

Phil gives him a look that says he doesn’t believe Dan for a second. “You can’t fool me, Dan Howell.” He smirks. “And thank you.” He starts tearing the paper off his present then, so Dan takes it as a cue to unwrap his own.

Phil laughs when he sees the fuzzy face of the blobfish plushie. “This is great!”

Dan, meanwhile, is busy watching the gold stars and black dust shift around inside his new phone case, mesmerized.

“I know it’s not much,” Phil says, and when Dan looks up, he notices Phil looks nervous. “But it made me think of you.”

“It’s lovely, Phil,” Dan says, removing his old phone case to put the new one on. “Thank you.”

Phil smiles. It fades in an instant. “One more thing.” He reaches into his carry-on again, fishing out a pencil and a receipt from the restaurant they ate at their first night in Inverness. He flips the receipt over, scribbles something on it, and hands it to Dan.

 _I O U one trip to Japan,_ the note says.

“Phil, you don’t owe—”

“It’s a promise,” Phil interrupts. “Not necessarily that I’ll spring a surprise vacation on you like you did to me, but that we’ll keep having adventures, that we’ll go back to Japan one day.” He smirks. “And that I’ll pay for the flight next time.”

The corner of Dan’s mouth ticks up in a lopsided smile. “Alright,” he says. “Deal.”

_“Flight 154 to London will begin boarding in twenty minutes. All passengers of flight 154 to London, please come to the gate and have your boarding pass ready.”_

Dan looks at Phil.

Phil looks at Dan.

They go in for a hug at the same time.

“Have a good Christmas,” Phil says, squeezing Dan tight. “See you in a week, okay?”

“Okay.” Dan rests his chin on Phil’s shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. “You too.”

They part too soon, and Dan has to swallow back a lump in his throat. He doesn’t know why he’s so emotional. He’ll see Phil in a week.

He leaves to find his own gate, but before he’s too far away from Phil’s, he makes the mistake of looking back. Phil is still standing right where Dan left him, looking straight at Dan and smiling. He holds one arm up and waves; with the other arm, he clutches the blobfish plushie to his chest.

 

* * *

 

_ Three Days Until Christmas, the Howell Home, Wokingham, England _

There are only three days left before Christmas, and Dan has never felt less festive in his life.

His parents keep asking if he’s alright, if he needs anything, sending each other worried glances when they think Dan isn’t looking. He always assures them that he’s fine, that he doesn’t need anything, and they always nod and smile and look like they don’t believe him. He wishes they would just believe him.

(No he doesn’t).

(Because the truth is, Dan isn’t fine).

And it’s silly. It’s silly that Dan isn’t fine, because he sort of knows why he’s upset, even if he won’t admit it, and it’s silly too. There’s no reason for him to feel so down about being away from Phil for a week. He’s away from Phil for a week all the time. Well, okay, that isn’t exactly true. He’s _with_ Phil far more often than not, but when he isn’t, he’s fine. A little bored, perhaps, when he’s stuck back in London in an empty apartment, left to edit videos without anyone to complain to and to browse the internet without anyone to share the funny things he sees with.

But that’s never anything like this. He doesn’t exactly feel empty inside, but he doesn’t feel quite full either. It’s as though some essential part of him is missing, and he wonders if it’s because he and Phil have continued growing closer and closer throughout the years, to the point that Dan has formed an unhealthy dependence on his best friend, or if it’s just the time of year making him feel this way. Maybe he wouldn’t feel his own lack of spirit so acutely if he didn’t have two days ago to compare it to, if he couldn’t still clearly remember the pure, unfiltered joy he felt at showing Phil the Christmas lights. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to enjoy Christmas anymore when he knows that feeling exists. And how is he supposed to get that feeling back when the most important person to him isn’t even—

Oh.

_Oh._

Suddenly, the past month makes a lot more sense.

He picks up his phone, praying his epiphany is correct.

 

* * *

 

_ One Day Until Christmas, Outside the Lester Home, Manchester, England _

It’s nearly eight o’clock at night, and Dan has had no sleep in the last twenty-four hours, yet he still feels as though he just drank a whole pot of coffee. He bounces on the balls of his feet, practically vibrating with nerves.

A gentle hand comes up to rub his shoulder. “It’ll be fine,” his mother’s voice reassures. “He’ll be ecstatic.”

Dan nods, though he isn’t sure that she is right. He takes a deep breath and knocks on the door.

There’s a steady rumble of cheery voices inside that doesn’t falter for a second when Dan knocks. One familiar voice rises above the others. “I’ll get it!”

The door swings open, and then Phil is there, a smile on his face and a welcome on his tongue. Until he sees who’s at the door, that is.

“Dan?” he says, eyes widening, first in disbelief and then in delight. “Dan!” He launches forward, nearly tackling Dan to the ground.

Dan stumbles back a bit, but he laughs and wraps his arms around Phil’s back. “Hello to you too.”

Phil pulls back, mouth hanging open in shock. “What are you doing here?”

Dan blushes. “I – er…I had a hunch that…well, you see, I missed you, and I thought, maybe…” He trails off, hoping Phil understands what he’s trying to say. “Please tell me I’m not the most egotistical human on the planet.”

Phil’s eyebrows nearly shoot into his hairline. Then he grins, shakes his head, and pulls Dan in for another hug. “This is exactly what I wanted,” he whispers.

Behind them, someone coughs.

“Mr and Mrs Howell!” Phil exclaims, as if noticing Dan’s family for the first time. “And, er, Dan’s grandma!”

Dan’s grandmother is the first to step up and hug Phil. “Gloria will do just fine,” she says.

Phil nods, practically kneeling down to hug her short frame. “Nice to finally meet you then, Gloria.”

“Happy Christmas Eve, Phil,” Dan’s mother laughs, hugging him next.

Last is Dan’s father, who stands quietly behind everyone else, arms crossed.

“Good to see you again, Mr Howell,” Phil says, extending his hand awkwardly.

Mr Howell stares at Phil’s hand for a few seconds before rolling his eyes affectionately and opening his arms. “Hello, Phil,” he says as he pulls his son’s best friend in for a hug.

Phil ushers them inside, leading them towards the dining room. “You’re just in time for dinner,” he says. “I’m sure my mum won’t mind. She always makes lots of food.”

Dan smirks. “Your mum already knows we’re coming.”

Phil stops in his tracks.

“Huh?”

“Phil!” Mrs Lester calls from the kitchen, as if on cue. “Stop dawdling in the hallway and let the Howells come eat dinner!”

They all go into the dining room to find most of the Lester family already gathered around the large table, six place settings still empty. Phil’s mother comes in a moment later with a water pitcher, taking one of the seats.

“Mu-um,” Phil complains as he takes his seat right in between Martyn and Dan, “why didn’t you tell me Dan was coming to visit?”

Catherine shrugs. “Well that would have ruined the surprise, sweetheart.” She leans forward a bit, addressing Dan, “Don’t worry, he didn’t suspect a thing. Was right miserable without you.”

“Mum!”

Catherine shrugs again, smiling wide. “Now,” she says. “Who’s hungry?”

 

* * *

 

_ Ten Minutes Until Christmas, the Lester Home, Manchester, England _

The Lesters only have one guest room in addition to the three bedrooms for Mr and Mrs Lester and their sons, so between them, the Howells, and a few other dinner guests who end up staying the night, the sleeping quarters are pretty cramped. Phil’s grandparents sleep in Martyn’s room, and Phil graciously offers Dan’s grandmother his own bed, but she insists that, as one of the smallest people in the house and probably the only person who will end up sleeping alone (she winks as she says this) she will be fine on the sofa. Phil’s aunt and uncle and their young daughter (who just turned three and has decided that Dan is her new favourite person after he agreed to have a tea party with her after dinner) all end up piling into Phil’s bed. Dan’s parents take the guest room, Phil’s parents sleep in their own room, and Dan, Phil, Martyn, and Cornelia are left to find their own places to sleep, equipped with two full-sized air mattresses between the four of them.

Martyn and Cornelia end up dragging their air mattress into the kitchen (“In case we want midnight snacks,” Martyn explains, making Dan a little jealous that he didn’t think of the idea first). They bid Dan and Phil goodnight, as they are the only other people in the house who are still awake, and Phil inflates the other air mattress in the corner of the living room, practically under the Christmas tree.

“Um,” Dan says as Phil throws a few pillows and blankets onto the mattress and starts to lie down, “I brought a sleeping bag, so if you want, I can—”

“Dan,” Phil interrupts, his voice low and fond. He holds the covers up in invitation. “Come here.”

Dan doesn’t need to be told twice. He crawls under the blankets and curls his body towards Phil’s. Phil slings an arm over Dan’s waist, pulling him close, and Dan doesn’t protest, just places his hand on Phil’s elbow as though keeping him from drifting away.

“Hey Dan?” Phil whispers, the reds and greens of Christmas lights dancing in his eyes.

“Yeah?”

“Remember when I told you not to worry about me, and to stop trying to get me in the Christmas spirit?”

“Yeah.”

“Well…thanks for not listening.”

Dan smiles.

“And just think, now that my Christmas mojo is back, I can make tomorrow the most festive Christmas ever! What song do you think I should wake everyone up with in the morning? I’m thinking Jingle Bells. Or Silent Night! You know, for the irony.”

“I regret everything,” Dan groans, burying his head in Phil’s pillow.

“No you don’t,” Phil says cheerfully.

Dan can’t argue with that.

In the hallway, the Lester’s old grandfather clock chimes twelve, letting those who are awake know that it is officially December twenty-fifth.

“Merry Christmas, Phil,” Dan murmurs.

As he drifts off, the last thing Dan hears is a barely audible “Merry Christmas, Dan.”


End file.
